


Dreaming of a White Christmas

by devilinthedetails



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Miracles, Christmas Sweaters, Christmas fic, Dreaming of Snow, Family, Fluff, Gen, General, Gifts, Let There Be Snow, Snowfall, The Burrow, Wishes, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28340187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails
Summary: As a young girl, Ginny dreams of a white Christmas.
Kudos: 3





	Dreaming of a White Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Holiday Tropes Challenge at Jedi Council Forums. My holiday trope was "Let There Be Snow;" my outfit was ugly Christmas sweaters and plaid pajamas; my random winter elements were hot cocoa, snow falling, snowball fight, and gifts.

Dreaming of a White Christmas

Ginny heard the Burrow stairs creak for the final time as Mum and Dad finished carrying the armloads of wrapped presents downstairs to place underneath the Christmas tree—decorated with shining ornaments, glittering tinsel, and a gnome from the garden captured and forced into an angel’s wing—in the living room. 

There would be the Christmas sweaters Mum always knitted for everyone., Cauldron Cakes, Chocolate Frogs with cards for collecting, a book on chess strategies for Ron, model broomsticks (because Mum and Dad couldn’t afford the real thing) for the twins to build, a potions set for Percy (because he thought that was fun), something dragon related for Charlie (because he never wanted anything else), new robes for Bill (because he was obsessed with looking cool) and probably a new doll for Ginny. 

Mum always got Ginny a new doll or something else girly even though Ginny hated dolls and other girly things. Ginny could only suppose that Mum had spent many years wishing for a daughter, and when one had finally come, she was eager to dump dolls and other girly things on that daughter whether the daughter in question was interested in dolls or not. 

Mum and Dad would surely have labeled some of the gifts as being from Father Christmas instead of from themselves. They did that every year even though tomorrow would make it three Christmases since Ginny, the youngest of the seven Weasley children, had stopped believing in this white-bearded old man who spent Christmas Eve traveling from house to house leaving presents for good little boys and girls. Being a younger sister to Fred and George meant innocence about anything was short-lived as melting snow. 

Snow. That was what Ginny really wanted for Christmas. She wanted a white Christmas, a blanket of fresh snow covering the ground She longed to hear it crunch beneath her boots. She hoped to be able to build snowmen and snow forts with her brothers in the garden. When they were done constructing the snow forts, they could roll snowballs and hurl them at each other. After their snowball fight if they had any energy left, they could climb to the top of the nearby hill and sled down it, laughing and shouting until they were hoarse. 

Then when they were finally exhausted, they could return home where Mum would heat up mugs of steaming hot cocoa for them. Steaming hot mugs they could pile with clouds of whipped cream white and frothy as snow and mountains of marshmallows. 

Yes, Ginny wanted snow for Christmas, but the weather wizard on the radio had said that there was no snow expected all night—no snow expected all week in fact. Yet somehow as she lay in her bed, she felt a strange awareness tingle through her, and she believed without knowing why that it must have started to snow. That somehow her one true Christmas wish had been granted. 

With a flare of impossible hope sparking inside her, she leapt out of her bed and crossed to her window. Her breath frosted the glass pane when she yanked away the curtain, but she could still see the white flakes—each as unique as fingerprints, Dad had once told her when they stood outside, catching snowflakes on their outstretched tongues—falling, accumulating in the garden and on the roof of the shed. 

The sight of the freshly fallen snow excited her so much that she ached to share the good news with someone. She didn’t want Mum and Dad to know that she was up this late. Percy would scold her if she came to him with anything less than an emergency in the middle of the night. Bill and Charlie would pretend to be kinder but not share any of her joy at the snow. Fred and George would tease her mercilessly. That left only Ron with whom she could share this midnight delight. 

She glided her feet into her slippers. Then, quiet as a mouse, she hurried to Ron’s bedroom. Ron’s door was unlocked so she entered without knocking and shook him awake. 

“Is it morning?” Ron mumbled, rubbing groggily at his eyes. “It’s a very dark morning if it is.” 

“It’s not morning.” Ginny stifled a giggle by stuffing the sleeves of her nightgown—another girly, purple thing Mum had foisted on her—into her mouth. “It’s midnight, but it’s snowing, Ron. Snowing! Would you believe it?” 

“It’s winter, Ginny. Snow isn’t that unexpected, is it?” Despite his dismissive words, Ron rose from his bed and walked over to his window to peer out of his curtains and confirm that it was indeed snowing as Ginny had said. Ginny had to muffle another giggle at his red-and-green plaid pajamas. 

“The weather wizard said it wasn’t going to snow, didn’t he?” Ginny retorted, coming over to stand beside her brother so that they were shoulder-to-shoulder, staring out at the snow they could play in tomorrow. “That makes it unexpected, doesn’t it?” 

“How should I know?” Ron fired back, beginning to draw pictures in the mist their breath left on the glass. Pictures of broomsticks and his Quidditch heroes from the Chudley Cannons who always hovered near the bottom of any league rankings. “Not like I listen to the radio.” 

“Mum does.” Ginny began painting images of the dragons Charlie told her about when Mum wasn’t around to yell at him for sharing facts about frightening magical creatures to young children. “That’s how I heard from the weather wizard it wasn’t going to snow.” 

“I don’t listen to whatever Mum’s got on the radio.” Ron snorted, adding more frost to the window. “It’s always Celestina Warbeck warbling on about lost love or first love, and I don’t know which is worse.” 

“If the weather wizard said it wasn’t going to snow, and now it’s snowing, that makes it a Christmas miracle that my wish came true, doesn’t it?” Ginny nudged her brother, irked by how far he had wandered from the point. 

“Nah.” Ron rolled his eyes. “The weather wizard’s forecast being wrong happens all the time. Mum’s always complaining about that. If the weather wizard was any good at predicting, he’d earn his Galleons and Sickles as a Seer, she says.” 

“But aren’t you at least a little excited that it’s snowing on Christmas Eve and we’re going to have a white Christmas?” Ginny persisted, undaunted. 

“Maybe a little bit,” Ron admitted, and Ginny could see the excitement he couldn’t hide lurking in the shadows of his face in his dark bedroom lit only by the moon and stars in the black sky outside his window.


End file.
